Chapter 3: Full week
Dom plunged deep down her throat once again, emptying his balls just like he had the last forty or fifty times this week. A familiar, practiced shudder ran through him, less a seismic event now and more a scheduled tremor. He watched the back of her head, the platinum hair swaying, and felt nothing but a vague, warm numbness.
The car smelled of her vanilla perfume and spent desire, a scent that had grown as familiar as his own cologne. He rested his head against the cool window, watching a couple walk a dog under the streetlight. Their normalcy felt like a broadcast from another planet. Anisyia pulled back with a soft, wet sound, wiping her chin with the back of her hand.
“You’re getting quiet,” she said, her voice hoarse. She twisted to look at him, her body contorting on the leather seat. “Bored of the merchandise already?”
“Just tired,” Dom murmured, his eyes drifting closed. The exhaustion was a physical weight, a leaden fatigue born from these nightly transactions. He heard her shuffle, the distinct, expensive scrape of leather soles against his floor mat.
When he opened his eyes, she had turned herself around, presenting her ass to him in the confined space. She was on her knees, facing the passenger window, but had arched her back dramatically. The new Balenciagas, stark black against her skin, were held aloft. She bent her feet, flexing them playfully, making the sculpted heels catch the gleam of a passing car’s headlights.
“Admit it,” she said, her voice muffled against the seat. “They look better from this angle.” She gave her ass a little shake, a jiggling, hypnotic motion, and swung her feet through the air like a child showing off new sneakers. The performance was so blatant, so utterly transparent, that Dom almost laughed.
Instead, he felt a dull, responsive throb. His body, trained by repetition, was reacting on its own. He unzipped his jeans once more, the sound routine. She didn’t need instruction. She simply lowered her head, presenting herself, and waited. He guided himself into her mouth from behind, one hand on her hip, the other braced against the headrest.
He focused on the sight, on the ridiculous, expensive shoes kicking lightly in the dim cabin. This was the deal. This was the transaction, made flesh and leather and silicone. He moved slowly at first, then with a building, mechanical rhythm, his breath fogging the glass beside him.
He moved slowly at first, then with a building, mechanical rhythm, his breath fogging the glass beside him. The world outside was a smear of light and shadow, unimportant. Her choked, rhythmic gasps were the only soundtrack, a familiar metronome counting down to another finish line he hadn’t chosen to cross.
“See?” she sputtered, pulling away for a second to drag in air. Her voice was strained but triumphant. “Told you the shoes were worth it.” She dove back down, her enthusiasm now edged with a frantic, proving energy. It was no longer about his pleasure, but about her purchase’s validation.
Dom’s hands fell from her body, landing limp at his sides. He stared at the roof liner, a gray expanse in the dark. A profound detachment settled over him, a cottony silence muffling everything but the physical sensation. It was just biology now, a circuit completing itself.
She felt his surrender and doubled her efforts, her technique becoming efficient, ruthless. She was closing the deal. His hips stuttered, then pushed forward one final, deep time. A low, gut-punched sound escaped him, more relief than ecstasy.
The release was a total systems shutdown, a wave of pure neural static that blotted out the car, the debt, the shoes, her. Every muscle unlocked at once, flooding him with a heavy, warm void. She finished him off quick this time and he passed out from the release, smiling.
The smile was the first genuine joy Dom had allowed himself to feel that night. He was feeling much better as he dreamt of Anisyia.
Anisyia felt him go still, utterly limp. She pulled back, wiping her mouth meticulously. She looked at his unconscious face, at the serene, placid smile, and rolled her eyes. “Got you good that time, didn't I?” she muttered to the silent car.
She straightened up, her knees complaining against the hard floor mat. She adjusted her lingerie, then spent a full minute admiring her shoes, turning her ankles to watch the streetlights gleam on the polished leather. A satisfied little hum vibrated in her throat. She’d earned these.
She glanced at Dom again, slumped against the driver’s door. He looked younger, softer in unconsciousness, which annoyed her slightly. She hated that he wouldn't stop thinking about Clara. Anisyia was jealous and wanted him to be happy around her, not guilty. She found her phone in her purse. The screen’s glow illuminated her face as she opened the camera, pointed it at her feet in the footwell, and took a picture.
The screen’s glow illuminated her face as she opened the camera, pointed it at her feet in the footwell, and took a picture. She captioned it ‘Earned’ and sent it to a girlfriend, her thumbs tapping rapidly. The phone’s light died, plunging the car back into a gloom broken only by the orange haze of a distant streetlamp.
Dom’s soft, regular breathing was the only sound. She studied his profile, that infuriatingly peaceful smile still on his lips. It wasn’t for her. It was for the release, for the emptiness. A sharp knot of something hot and unpleasant tightened in her chest.
“You smile in your sleep thinking about her, don’t you?” she whispered to the quiet. The words hung there, accusing and pathetic, oblivious to the fact that it was her that he really dreamt of. She shoved the feeling down, burying it under a colder, more familiar certainty. She reached over, her fingers brushing through his hair, a strangely tender gesture that felt like recon. He didn’t stir.
Her hand drifted down, over his stubbled cheek, to the collar of his shirt. She found the top button, undid it. Then the next. Her movements were slow, deliberate, not arousing but investigative. She needed a mark, a proof of her presence that would outlast his dreams of Clara.